The Schism
by Anoriel
Summary: CHAPTER 6 UP This is the story of the schism of VFD. What else is there to say? Again, the plot will become more apparent as I post. Other than that, please review!
1. Ch1: The Meeting

The Schism

Chapter 1

The rain beat on the trashcan lids like drumsticks on a drum, and the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalks lifted their spiky leaves a bit in anticipation of the coming wet. They were beaten down again by pedestrians running to get inside; some with large umbrellas, many with newpapers over their heads, which they then proceeded to shake off as they stepped inside, and grumble over the flowing ink.

There was one person, in particular, who had to get inside quickly. No umbrella or picayune shielded this person from the pounding droplets, just an oversized tan coat with large pockets, which at this moment contained the hands of the owner. The owner walked brisky along the sidewalk, bursting into a jog as the torrents began to swell. He had something very important to deliver...

***

The large, dimly lit room housed ten chairs, upon which were seated ten people. There was an eleventh person, who stood at a podium in the front of the room with a gavel. The occupants of the chairs were muttering to each other, so that the general effect of the noise upon the ears was that of a room full of rather loud owls hooting continuously. Then the eleventh person at the front banged the gavel, rather contemptuously, really, and the nine others were silent.

"Where is L?" boomed the person at the podium.

The ten others resumed their chattering, for, perhaps, there was someone in the room who knew what had kept this person addressed as L.

The gavel sounded once more.

"Silence!" boomed the person at the podium. "D, aren't _you_ his representative?"

The person called D stood up. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I know where he -"

"I didn't ask you where he was, D. I only -"

The person at the podium became the second person to be cut off within the span of thirty seconds as the man in the oversized tan coat (with large pockets) burst into the room.

"I'm here," he said hoarsely, gasping for breath. "I have the papers."

"Good," said the person at the podium, "give them here." He held out his right hand, into which was then deposited a packet of papers. "Someone bring up a chair for L."

Obligingly, one of the ten others ran into the darkness at the back of the room and back, this time carrying a chair similar to those at the front. L sat down.

"Now that we are all those requested are present, I hereby call this meeting to order," said the person at the podium, banging the gavel again. "Is the secretary ready to transcribe the minutes?"

"I am, M," said one of the other ten, pulling a typewriter out from underneath his chair.

"We will begin with roll-call," said M, the person at the podium. "Will the Vice Chancellor please read the committee list to see if anyone is missing?"

"I will. Please answer when I call your name," said the Vice Chancellor addressed. "J?"

"Yes," said J, the person with the typewriter.

"J?"

"Yes," said the other J.

"M?"

"Yes."

"M?"

"Yes."

"K?"

"Yes."

"D?"

"Yes."

"L?"

"Yes."

"L?"

"Yes."

"S?"

"Yes."

"O?"

"Yes."

"R?"

"Yes."

"And finally me, R, who of course is here. Everyone is accounted for, M," said Vice Chancellor R.

"Very good," said M from the podium. "Let us begin by reciting the pledge."

All twelve voices rumbled together. "The world is quiet here."

M leafed through L's papers before speaking. He held them in the air, saying, "These are important documents which L has stolen from the Library of Records at the recently contructed Heimlich Hospital."

S stood up. "You mean the recently _half_ constructed Heimlich Hospital."

"Whatever," said M. "It makes no difference. My point is, these are clippings from the Daily Punctilio, a rather popular, if inaccurate, newspaper in this area. The staff at the Punctilio has recently hired a reporter named Geraldine Julienne, and started her with a daily column entitled "Secret Organizations you should Know About."

The others gasped and started chattering amongst one another once more.

M banged his gavel. "Silence! This is not necessarily a bad thing. We will simply have to be on the lookout from now on, and make sure that any information regarding VFD is not let out. The consequences of that, of course, would be potentially disastrous.

"Your assignments will, for now, remain the same. We should be unaffected by this new column, but take this meeting as a warning. Whatever secrecy precautions you took before, keep them and even fortify them now."

All were silent.

"Any questions?" asked M.

No one could think of any.

"This meeting is adjourned," said M, banging the gavel twice. "Return to your duties."

And with that, the twelve members of VFD filed out the door at the back of the room and into whatever lay behind it.

***

How was that? The plot isn't very apparent now, I admit, but developments are to come. Please review!

~ Anoriel


	2. Ch2: The Organization

A/N: Thank you to my first three reviewers: Caspian Raider, Emeryss Sedailia, and the Farting Menace! Happy Mother's Day to all those mothers out there. Now, on to Ch. 2.

The Schism

Chapter 2

The eleven were silent as they crossed the threshold. They arrived in a narrow hallway, about three feet wide, with various doors coming off it, and with an elevator at the end of it. They stopped at this elevator, as the person called J, who had been using the typewriter, pushed the up button. After several moments, the doors opened and everyone shuffled inside. J pushed the ground level button, the doors closed, and they began to travel up to the surface.

It had never been all that pleasant holding meetings and conducting experiments underground, but it had been necessary to ensure that the organization was not discovered. These eleven people belonged to an organization called VFD. The V stood for Volunteer, as stated in the VFD anthem, but the last two letters were classified information, only to be stated in an emergency.

The biggest emergency that the members of VFD could think of was being discovered by the outside world. For the smoothness and simplicity required conducting the VFD assignments, it was necessary to shut out most of society, which would, upon discovering VFD, immediately investigate it, publicize it, and most likely destroy everything the organization had worked for - keeping the world quiet. The members of VFD did everything possible to prevent such a dreadful circumstance as this, and so far they had succeeded.

This, of course, was only the biggest emergency they could think of - it was not, as they were to find out, the biggest possible emergency.

The elevator stopped in a narrow concrete building cleverly disguised as a rather fat lamppost. Here the Volunteers split and went their separate ways, some in pairs and others solitary, to their assignments, which were as varied as a pair of shoes would be, if the left shoe was black and the right shoe was white.

The two called O and B, though paired up, were not on assignment, having completed theirs already. They were going out to dinner at the restaurant in the nearest city, which was not so far away as the surrounding dusty landscape implied.

O was an important member of the society. He assisted in the creation of the coded videos created by a Mr. Sebald. These videos were filmed so that messages could be delivered to the members of VFD without the rest of the world knowing, or without having to make arrangements for a meeting. O was extremely respected for his job. He himself was not exactly humble about it.

B was part of the Maps Bureau, which created various maps secretly marked with rips, blemishes, or coffee stains. These imperfections aided members of VFD as to the locations of VFD headquarters, meeting places, havens, and other landmarks. These maps were helpful when a Volunteer was searched, or when one mistakenly dropped a map which was then picked up by a member of the outside world.

O and B had been engaged for the last several weeks. Marriage was not impossible between Volunteers, although, understandibly, it complicated things a bit. O and B had no immediate plans, however, but were looking toward the next year or so for a wedding date.

The next pair was L with the tan coat and J with the typewriter, who were brothers. They, like most other members of VFD, had volunteered at a very early age, and had been training for years. L and J had met with the ten others from the meeting almost a year and a half ago, and from that point the group had been driven around from headquarters to headquarters, fleeing the world's eye, until they finally opted to go underground. Underground, of course, was where they were now, and so far they had not had to move again.

L and J were currently on assignment in the same city where O and B were headed. L was going to the Daily Punctilio building there as a spy, and J was going to assist with the large shipment of sugar bowls which were arriving at the Veritable French Diner, a disguised VFD outpost.

And finally there was D. L and D had been good friends since they were both neophytes, a term which here means, "Volunteers being considered for induction into VFD." Being such good friends, D had later agreed to being L's representative in all legal, literary, and social matters, under the circumstance that L was not available, of course. D was being sent to this city to investigate the three possible neophytes I, D, and Q, who lived in the area.

These five, O, B, L, J, and D, all walked toward the city together. As stated, they weren't really all that far from the city, but merely had to climb over a medium-sized hill to get there. Once they were over, they split up, each heading toward the location of their assignment (or, in O and B's case, toward the location of their restaurant).

L made his way past the Stationery District of the city and into the Literary District, home of the Daily Punctilio office building. The rain had stopped; people were no longer relying on umbrellas and newspapers, but the sky was still a dull gray, as if the sun had fallen asleep under a large gray fleece blanket.

L located the building with relative ease and stepped inside.

It was time to find a job with the Punctilio.

***

Short chapter, eh? Get used to it, I am not that good with long chapters. Still no apparent plot, but that particular part of the story will reveal itself in time.

Keep reviewing! Thank you.

~ Anoriel


	3. Ch3: The Interview

The Schism

Chapter 3

The person called L walked up to the Information Desk. "Excuse me," he said to the woman seated there. "My name is Lemony Snicket. I have an appointment at 4:00 with Ms. Poe."

The woman at the desk scrambled hurriedly through a tall stack of papers. Then, failing there, she flipped though a beat up RoloDex until she found what she was looking for. She plucked out a small index card and handed it to M. Snicket.

"Here you are," she said. "Ms. Poe's office is on the top floor. only office with a guard. Give this to the guard and he'll let you in. Good luck, Mr. Snicket."

Mr. Snicket thanked her and deftly located the nearest elevator. He was slightly uncomfortable; Volunteers always were shen giving out their real names. There was generally nothing wrong with doing this, but these days... well, it was best not to think about it.

Besides getting several paper cuts in the same day or receiving the news that someone in your family has betrayed you to your enemies, one of the most unpleasant experiences in life is a job interview. It is very nerve-wracking to explain to someone all the things you can do in the hopes that they will pay you to do them. And, unfortunately for Mr. Snicket, a job interview was exactly what he had come here for, an unpleasant fact that revealed itself in the pit in his stomach, as he pressed the elevator button labeled "32."

All too soon, it seemed, the elevator came to a stop at 32, the top floor. He stepped out on autopilot and made his way to the guard at the door to Ms. Poe's office. He presented the card the receptionist had given him, and wlaked through the door, which the guard had graciously opened. The door shut behind him.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Snicket," said a voice.

***

Ms. Eleanora Poe was 35, single, and the snootiest newspaper editor one could ever possibly imagine. Ideed, it was easy to be snooty, growing up in a family like hers. Her father was the sole heir to a grandiose fortune, but because her miserly great-uncle wouldn't hurry up and die, the Poes were left only fairly wealthy. Her mother was a former tour guide; it was on one of these tours that she met Eleanora's father and fell in love. After they got married, they had Eleanora, and spoiled her horribly. Like all first borns, Eleanora loved to pick on her younger siblings (A/N: Don't tell me off for that comment! _I_ am a first born myself!). In the way of younger siblings she had a brother, Arthur, who had an annoyingly persistent cough, which he had picked up in grade school and never gotten rid of. Arthur had a wife and two children (extremely obnovious children, in Eleanora's opinion) and worked at some odd bank uptown. Eleanora ha no time to remember the names of banks at which he relatives worked. Her job as chief editor of the Daily Punctilio required all of her energy.

At this moment, Ms. Poe was seated in an enormous leather office chair behind an enormous wooden desk, which was all fitted out with flags and the Punctilio's trademark seal as if Eleanora were the President of the United States. In front of this desk there was a stool such as one of a set of stools one wuld use to seat a large school band on a minscule budget. As there were apparently no other seats in the room, Mr. Snicket took it he was supposed to sit on this stool, which he proceeded to do. Ms. Poe waited a couple of seconds before saying, "I presume you brought your resumé?"

Mr. Snicket almost sighed with relief, but stopped himself. Resumés are, of course, the only things capable of making a job interview more bearable. A resumé is simply a list of one's accomplishments and skills, written before the interview so that the one does not have to recite these accomplishments and skills out loud. Or course Mr. Snicket had brought one; he had only been afraid Ms. Poe would not ask to see it. He handed it to her.

"Hmm," she said, looking it over. "Notetaking... researching... good.... What are your interests, Mr. Snicket?"

This was good. Things were going smoothly so far. He replied simply, "I have many interests, Ms. Poe," hoping she would get to her point. She did.

"Are you at all interested in the dramatic arts? Theater and such? Because we have an opening here for Theater Critic, and we have been looking for someone to take the post."

Mr. Snicket was secretly elated. Now it was certain - he was getting this job. "Yes, in fact I am an avid theater connoisseur," he half-lied; he did enjoy theater but rarely got a chance to, what with VFD and all.

"Good," said Ms. Poe. "When do you think you can start?"

"Any time, Ms. Poe."

"Monday then. I expect a daily column, mind you."

It was Friday. Two days to prepare.

"That's fine, Ms. Poe."

"Very good. Thank you, Mr. Snicket, you may leave. I assume you can show yourself out?"

"Yes." He was only too happy to do so.

***

OK, there is chapter 3. Tell me what you think!

I know, it sounds like I am campaigning for reviews, but who doesn't like getting reviews?

~ Anoriel


	4. Ch4: R's Ball Problems and B's Social W...

The Schism

Chapter 4

R was getting rather frustrated. As a duchess, one of her main roles in VFD was to set up an annual VFD masked ball at her mansion at Winnipeg Manor. This ball was a rather nerve-wracking affair; personally, R would rather it were conducted at the Baudelaire or Snicket mansion, instead of at hers. Everything had to be made just so; there were overnights rooms to be prepared, invitations to be written, caterers to be hired, extra sugar bowls to be ordered - the list went on and on.

So it was reasonable for R to be frustrated. It was a near impossible feat every year to get the thing organized, but with the influx of new Volunteers this year, it was going to be even more impossible. R needed help, and she was desperate for it.

***

Fifty miles away, the Volunteer called B woke up to the sound of her telephone ringing. Grumbling irritably, she dragged herself out of bed and looked at the clock. 6:30 AM Saturday morning. This had better be good.

She managed to pick up the telephone through half-closed eyes and held it to her ear. "Hello?" she said groggily. No answer. She waited ten seconds before she realized the receiver was upside-down. She turned it over hastily. "Hello?"

"Is that you, Bea?" came the Duchess's voice through the other end.

__

Well in heaven's name who else would it be? thought Beatrice. She hated being called by her nickname. She thought it sounded too much like her initial, which was used only during formal VFD meetings. Everyone called her Bea anyway.

"Yes, it is I, Gina," she responded, knowing full well that Regina, Duchess of Winnipeg, hated being called by _her_ nickname just as much.

There was a cold silence on the other line for a moment and then, "Ah, good, _Beatrice_. I was wondering - I am having a spot of trouble with the Masked Ball -"

__

Oh, yes. The Masked Ball. Well, no wonder she's having trouble, waking up this early, thought Beatrice. _As if we don't have enough to worry about, what with that Julienne woman and all._

"- and I wanted to know if you could perhaps bring yourself and some other Volunteers, just to help out."

__

And then there is Olaf, thought Beatrice. _He isn't himself lately. He's acting... strange...._

- Flashback Friday evening -

(A/N: Yes, yes, I _know _flashbacks are corny. Too bad, I'm using one anyway.)

Olaf and Beatrice had gone to the Café Salmonella ("Isn't it delish / To dine on pink fish?"), a rather annoying theme restaurant which Olaf had recently discovered. Admittedly, it was less annoying than the Anxious Clown up in Lachrymose, but that was hardly an accomplishment.

Beatrice loved salmon, so she relished the food, though she thought the salmon costumes were a bit much. As were the salmon ice cubes. And she refused the customary salmon corsage offered by the person at the door.

Beatrice and Olaf had gotten onto the subject of VFD - which was not hard to do, considering they were both members of it. Still, it was dangerous to talk about VFD in public, as one would imagine, but luckily they had gotten a booth, which offered more privacy than regular seating did.

"What do you think of our hierarchical system?" Olaf asked her.

"I - I'm not particularly sure; I never thought about it before that much. Why?" Beatrice responded.

Evidently Olaf had thought about this before; his answer was prompt and quite detailed. "I would prefer if we had a change of system. The rankings confuse everyone - they must be done away with entirely, I think. I would prefer it if there was one leader at the head, with unranked subordinates below him. Still quite hierarchical, but less so."

Beatrice giggled into her water glass. "You must be joking," she said.

"I am quite serious," said Olaf.

This took a minute to sink in. Then: "I don't understand. I mean - let me rephrase that - I don't see how that would work. VFD is spread out across the world - how could a leader possibly govern all that?" Beatrice asked.

"We already have a leader governing all that," said Olaf shortly.

"Yes, but not really. She doesn't do much, except preside over the meetings of our lead reps," she replied.

"These lead reps are what make everything so complicated. They squabble and argue over every issue that they come across, while the rest of us must wait for their verdict. If there was just one leader writing the rules, assigning the duties..."

"I see your point. But it's too much. VFD's too big. It would never work," Beatrice said uncomfortably. This was getting rather in-depth. "It's much simpler just to stick to the way we have it. I mean, it seems to be working quite well, doesn't it? We really haven't had any problems, have we?"

"Think about it, Beatrice. Think of all the problems there have been," Olaf responded.

This was true, she thought even more uncomfortably. They'd had to go underground, literally, to stay underground, figuratively. And there was that newspaper column that had everyone so worried. "Every government has its flaws," she said rather lamely, as if this was supposed to be an excuse.

"Is that supposed to be an excuse? Flaws must be fixed sooner or later," he said. He suddenly stared at her. "You know I love you, Beatrice," he said.

"And I you."

Suddenly a salmon-costumed waiter interrupted this rather cheesy interlude. "Dessert, sir and madam?" he said in an oily voice.

"Yes, please, said Beatrice, and they waited as he brought the tray.

- End sappy flashback -

"Beatrice? Beatrice, are you there?" said Regina nervously.

Beatrice was jolted out of her reverie. "Oh - um, yes, sorry, Your Duchessness."

"Will you come and help?"

"Yes," she said shortly.

"Will you bring friends?

"Yes."

"Alright, good, _thank you_, Beatrice, I hoped you'd accept."

"Good-bye."

"See you soon!" The Duchess hung up.

Now, the matter of who to bring. Perhaps the five who had all gone into town Friday. She, of course, was coming, and then Olaf, Daniel, Jacques, and... who else came? Oh yes, Lemony. Yes, they would do perfectly. The Duchess would be pleased.

***

All right, I cranked out chapter four. Those of you who watched Gladiator (who hasn't?), Olaf is starting to sound a bit like Commodus, isn't he? Maybe not.

What did you think? Stupid, clever, corny, original? Review and tell me! Thank you.

~ Anoriel


	5. Ch5: Enter the Accomplices

The Schism

Chapter 5

Mr. Snicket was taking the tour bus down to Winnipeg Manor, and he was in a rather foul mood. When he could, he would explain to Regina exactly why he was in a foul mood. He would have already over the phone to Beatrice, but she had been awfully insistent.

"Lemony," she had said, "you _must_ come. You know Regina."

This was true. Everybody knew Regina. Everyone knew that if Regina had trouble with something - anything - she would get depressedly frustrated and would be unable to talk for weeks. The more people helping her, the better.

So Lemony came. Now he would only have one day to get ready for his new job.

Unfortunately, Mr. Snicket had chosen to travel by bus, and as anyone who is reading this knows, traveling by bus is rarely a pleasant experience. Even more unfortunately, Mr. Snicket sat in a middle seat. And perhaps the straw that broke the camel's back (an expression which here means, "the one thing that made Mr. Snicket's situation the worst it could possibly have been") was the fact that the two people on either side of him were not exactly of the sort you would want to sit next to you on a long bus trip. One of them was extremely fat, and looked rather like a boyish lady or a girlish man. This person had also apparently forgotten his/her coffee this morning and kept crushing Mr. Snicket's shoulder with his/her enormous head. The other person was thankfully normal-sized, but he had gone through amputation, and in place of his hands there were two hooks. Usually there would be no problem with this; Mr. Snicket was not prejudiced against people with disabilities. However, this hook-handed person insisted on yawning every so often with his arms stretched out, so that by the time Winnipeg Manor was in sight, Mr. Snicket was not only crushed but severely scratched as well.

To make matters worse, these two unpleasant people got off the bus with him. Mr. Snicket had not an inkling why, but that was none of his business. (A/N: If only he knew.)

He immediately strode across the wide lawn that swept in front of the mansion, making his way to the veranda. When he got there, he pressed the small button on the wall, which activated the doorbell. The door opened immediately, and Beatrice ushered him inside.

"Please come in, Lemony, Regina's been awful this morning."

With any luck, Regina would not be in the foyer at this moment. She wasn't.

Mr. Snicket followed Beatrice to the parlor, where the Duchess was on the telephone. She waved hello at Mr. Snicket, and gestured toward the door to the ballroom. He obligingly opened the door and looked through it. His brother and Olaf were there unpacking boxes of what appeared to be serpentine and balloons. Oh the horror.

Regina hung up the phone and Mr. Snicket looked back into the parlor, shutting the door. "Hello, Lemony," said Regina, "I'm so glad you could come." She didn't look glad at all, but Mr. Snicket realized this was not to be taken personally. "Could you just help Jacques and Olaf in the ballroom? That would be of great help to me." Then she picked up the telephone again, and dialed in some numbers.

Mr. Snicket walked into the ballroom and opened a new box of streamers.

"Hello, Lemony," said Jacques. "How did your interview go?"

"Very well, I suppose. I'm to start work on Monday," Mr. Snicket replied.

"What exactly are you doing?" asked Jacques.

"You know very well exactly what I'm doing," said Mr. Snicket.

Jacques rephrased his question. "Well, yes, of course, but what is your position at the newspaper?"

"Theater critic."

"Excuse me," said Olaf, "but I must go outside for a moment." He did, and the two brothers looked at each other questioningly.

* * *

Lunch was at 1:30 in the afternoon, so at that time, Snickets checked their watches and headed for the parlor again, where Regina would undoubtedly be. Beatrice and the Duchess were both there. Daniel had been working in the gardens and showed up five minutes later. Ten minutes later, just as everyone began to wonder where Olaf was, he stumbled in from the ballroom, looking red-faced and disheveled. No inquiries were made about this point, and the six walked though the ballroom, formal dining room, and kitchens, and into the informal dining room, where there was a plate of sandwiches on a round table.

Everyone took a seat and grabbed a sandwich.

"The ballroom looks wonderful," said the Duchess.

No one answered.

"I believe I have found a suitable caterer," said the Duchess in reply to the silence.

"Really?" said Beatrice.

"I hope they are better than the caterers you hired last time," said Jacques dryly.

Everyone winced. Last year, the caterers had proved much too intrusive. While they were poking about where they weren't supposed to, they grew very suspicious of the Duchess's ball and all these people who had showed up. They had almost stumbled upon the actual purpose of the ball - as a VFD get together. The Duchess had had them dismissed early on in the proceedings.

"Don't worry," the Duchess replied coldly. "As I have stated, I believe them to be suitable enough for our company."

The party was silent for another fifteen minutes, whereupon they went back to their duties. Olaf stayed in the ballroom this time.

Unseen by anyone, the fat person and the hook-handed man ran down the front lawn to catch the next tour bus away from Winnipeg Manor. There was much to be done.

* * *

I hope this chapter made up for the time it took to write it. This is _not_ the easiest story to write. But it _is_ fun! Hopefully, the next chapter will not take so long.

~ Anoriel


	6. Ch6: G Julienne, Some Questions, and Es...

A/N: I know, I know, it's taken me an _extremely_ long time to update. I apologize.

The Schism

Chapter 6

Monday morning at the office of The Daily Punctilio, Geraldine Julienne exited the imposing building with her briefcase bulging and her teeth gnashing. She tottered through the throngs of people on the sidewalks in her rather impractical high-heeled shoes, with a look on her face that spoke plainly: "Talk to me, bump into me, or otherwise impede me, and you're dead." The look was not the only thing speaking. Geraldine herself muttered under her breath, giving off the aura of insanity.

"She doesn't see any value in anything valuable, does she... 'Columns of this nature have been deemed unsuitable for our paper at this time...' unsuitable... we'll see about that..."

* * *

Eleanora Poe was in hardly a better mood. Firing people did not give her pleasure, as it meant that the paper's budget was low and her own paycheck was probably sinking. When Geraldine was first taken on, the Punctilio's budget was already tight, and when Mr. Snicket was hired, spending was pushed past the limit. One of them, Geraldine or Mr. Snicket, had to go.

It wasn't Geraldine's lucky day.

* * *

Geraldine entered her apartment building with the same aura of insanity emanating from her person. She stomped up a flight of stairs, opened her door, and made her way to her bedroom, where she tossed the big-but-not-big-enough briefcase on the bed. She clicked it open and immediately about fifty leaves of paper slid out in random directions. The rest remained stacked in messy piles that peeked over the top of the briefcase. Somewhere interred in the disorder were her stapler, three-ring hole puncher, and fountain pen. She rummaged for several minutes for the latter. When she found it she rummaged for several more minutes for a clean sheet of paper.

"Yes!" she whispered to herself, as she slid a yellow legal pad out of the mess. She slapped it down on her desk nearby and brought up the internet on her computer monitor.

"Let's dig up a little dirt on this Mr. - um - er - argh, I've never been that good with names," she said aloud.

* * *

****

INFREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT V.F.D

1. How do I volunteer for your organization?

As V.F.D. is a relatively secret organization, contacting volunteers is a little difficult. It is possible you've been contacted about possible membership already but did not notice. Perhaps a cashier said something strange to you in the checkout line. Perhaps a school janitor asked you a question concerning your pet bullfrog, or your pet bullfrog asked you a question concerning your school janitor. Perhaps you have been mysteriously sent a list of books that had coded messages inside, or perhaps you detected a message in the archives of your town's newspaper. Perhaps a taxi driver showed you a photograph of people you did not know, or perhaps you looked at a photograph of yourself and saw people you did not recognize in the background. Perhaps a banker approached you with a telegram, or perhaps a voice whispered something when you thought you were alone, or perhaps you were aboard a ship, and airplane, a bus, or an automobile that departed early, late, or exactly on time.

If you think you have been contacted and are interested in volunteering, you may want to keep a commonplace book, which is a notebook where you can copy part of books you think are in code, or take notes on a series of events you may have observed that are suspicious, unfortunate, or very dull. Keep your commonplace book in a safe place, such as underneath your bed, or at a nearby dairy.

2. How does my volunteering begin?

On the day you join the organization, you will hear a noise outside your home. It may sound like the howl of a wolf, the cawing of a crow, the hissing of a snake, the chirping of a cricket, the engine of an automobile, the keys of a typewriter, the striking of a match, or the turning of a page. The noise will come in the middle of the night, the middle of the morning, or, in very rare cases, late in the afternoon. Ask your parents what the noise was. If they reply "nothing," they are replying in code, because there is never "nothing" outside one's home. If you are interested in volunteering, answer your parents with the following question: "If there's nothing out there, what was that noise?" We will be listening, and will know it is safe to act.

Note: If you have no parents, we'll contact you in a more direct manner.

3. Do I have to get a tattoo?

We feel that the tattoo is an obligation that should be required of every volunteer. In other words, yes.

4. When will I see my parents again?

Error: The remainder of this page cannot be displayed. 

* * *

Esmé (?), of number six hundred sixty-seven, Dark Avenue, was proud to say that she was perfectly in, thank you very much. She was the last person you'd expect to be involved in anything unstylish or passé, because she just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Esmé was a financier by trade, but she was an actress at heart, a phrase which here means, "she had a wonderful time believing herself to be an actress but was really not that great at acting." She had an office downtown with many in things in it, including a set of color-coordinated business cards that looked like this:

**__**

Esmé:

The City's

Seventh Most Important

Financial Advisor

The business cards were always stacked neatly in a tulip-shaped holder, which was in, next to very small, very in cactus on Esmé's in semicircular front desk. The front desk was the first thing customers saw when they walked through the jingly, in door, and it was important to make a good first impression on them by bombarding them with in items.

Esmé herself almost never sat at the front desk, preferring to keep a well-dressed but poorly-paid secretary there instead to take down names, make appointments, and other such menial work. Esmé was usually in her personal office in the rear of the building, where there was a second desk for herself and two chairs for her clients.

On this second desk there was another stack of business cards in a tulip-shaped holder, but next to this there was a sugar bowl, rather than a cactus. None of her clients had really figured out why there was a sugar bowl there, as Esmé did not serve coffee and she never took sugar out of the bowl. Actually, most of her clients never really noticed the sugar bowl, and Esmé never particularly cared to point it out to them.

Esmé was not a single woman. At this time she was "with" a man named Olaf, whom she had been taking acting lessons from before their relationship developed.

Unfortunately, Olaf was currently "with" somebody else. In truth, he was engaged to somebody else. Someone we all know very, very well.

* * *

Okies, I updated. Dunno if this is long enough... but whatever. My next update will probably come faster anyway.

Please review, though I know I don't deserve it.

~ Anoriel

"Le monde ici, c'est calme."


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